Queen of the Singles Table.

Holy holy holy. Nothing gets me going these days more than Chad VanGaalen does. The first song 'Willow Tree' off his latest album, "Soft Airplane" just about does me in. I listened to it eight hundred times today in the country. Chad is a musician from Calgary who is inspired by drawing in his basement, his number one love, and their number one love child, Ezzy. Goodness.

The other day at my first printmaking class at Martha Street studio while my head was bent in concentration, while my eyes were following the unruly course taking place on the linocut in front of me, while my hands attempted to steer the chisel into some sort of tangible relief, while my cheeks flushed half in pleasure and half in frustration, someone slipped José Gonzalez into the stereo when no one was looking and I coincidentally slipped into this incredible universe where nothing in the world mattered except what was taking place before my very eyes. Everyone else in the studio--along with any hesitation or trepidation I had had initially--crept out the back door of my head and there I sat, in a trance, singlehandedly delivered into this unknown utopia by José. Smiling. Smiling contentedly as strips and coils of linoleum flew off my work table and piled around my stool like premature snow banks. "Slow down Meg. Good composition, but slow down. Enjoy" was tossed over my shoulder by my teacher. Little did he know I WAS working slowly; as slowly as my hunger for that room, for those tools, for those people, for those paints, for those archaic presses, for those babes toting giant silk screens to and fro in the corner of my eye, for those smells, for those thousand dollar prints drying to my right, for those words of encouragement I have been dying for ever since I could hold a crayon. I was making art painstakingly slow and enjoying every minute of it.

I don't remember the last time I have felt this/that happy. Today as six of us sat around the dinner table in the country poking at our leftover soup and buns, my mum was wracking her brain trying to think of her biggest regret as a parent. Laughingly, I suggested, "a lack of art programs for your (black sheep) child?" and while she nodded duly in agreement to my point, her biggest regret turned out to be choosing to house the family computer in the basement out of eyesight and out of earshot in lieu of a position upstairs. Whoops. No biggie Mum, we turned out alright despite all the sleepless nights spent as Chatty Kathy's on MSN and ICQ. My point is, where I am lacking in childhood classroom attendance in said unaffordable art programs, my enthusiasm and appreciation as an adult-attendee makes up for lost time. So Mum and Dad, thanks.

Enthusiasm is hard to come by these days. I guess my current stance is best said with Danielson Famile lyrics: "Bring it on Old Man Winter" for I am one enthusiastic lady. Now if only I could rope in a handsome Prince to bring to Kroeker gatherings. I am getting deathly tired of my reigning position as Queen of the Singles Table. Shit. Thanksgiving is a double edged sword that way: I am both grateful of my freedom from baby-sitting anxious Meeting-the-family-for-the-first-time Lovers and vexed by my perma state of singledom. Thanksgiving gets my marital status goat. Oh my, I smell inspiration for my next linocut. In actuality, it is not all that bad. All the blissful new married couples have to keep their mouths shut when I hog all the babies because I AM Queen of the singles table. So, in that light, I am cool with the arrangement for now.

Okay, I want to bathe and drink Malbec, listen to Chad and call Rabbi to compare Thanksgiving horror stories. Again, to close: Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter. Bring it on Old Man Winter.

Nobody's Margaret.

Post Script: That last salutation was for you Ruthless, cue my melodious laughter.
Post post script: I think the photos below were taken during a very happy time in my life. I miss you JJ, very much.